Elder Scrolls: The Eternal Champion
by aspie3000
Summary: A mortal from earth gets sent to the world of the Elder Scrolls during the events of Arena with the destiny of becoming the Eternal Champion.


**Elder Scrolls: The Eternal Champion**

Alright, so basically, I'm going to attempt to write a self insert fanfic using the story of Elder Scrolls Arena. A few things to note in this is that it won't follow the cannon exactly. Events may happen differently and there may be new elements to the universe in question. I hope you enjoy it and I hope for valid criticism and not flaming. Here goes.

**Introduction: Deals with Devils**

The year is 3E 339. The place is the devil's table, a neutral plane of Oblivion where the Daedric Lords meet to discuss the issues of the day. The current Emperor of Tamriel, Jagar Tharn, sits at the largest seat at the end of the table awaiting the arrival of the demons that he has so callously bargained with to secure his position as the absolute ruler of Tamriel. He is a false king, having usurped the throne from Emperor Uriel Septim VII by traitorous means stealing his throne, his wife, and his visage with a powerful and dangerous magical item. His dealings with the Daedric Lords are for everyone's diabolical benefit. Jagar Tharn needs soldiers that are obedient to him no matter what evil and immoral actions he takes and gets the added bonus of obtaining the magical secrets of the Daedric Princes to become the most powerful mage alive. In return the Daedric Princes are given influence in the realm of Mundus via magical manipulation of the dragon fires to pillage, corrupt, and destroy as they see fit. Jagar Tharn's reign has been a tyrannical one having turned the entirety of Tamriel into a vicious police state. Any rebellion against him has been crushed with extreme prejudice and his public detractors have been purged in labor camps. His mismanagement of the affairs of the Empire had led to a series of territorial conflicts known as the Imperium Simulacrum that he lifted nary a finger to stop. Some say that the wars were the result of the Daedric manipulation of Molag-Bal and Mehrunes Dagon to cause mass strife through Tamriel and harvest the souls of mortals. In any event the axis of evil that has formed under Tharn's rule is now in jeopardy. Yesterday a moth priest arrived on Jagar Tharn's doorstep in the dead of night with a grave message. The Elder Scrolls have brought forth a new prophecy that foretells the rising of a hero known as the Eternal Champion that will bring doom to Jagar Tharn. It is said that this champion will arise from the court of Uriel Septim and bring peace to Tamriel, a seemingly impossible event seeing as Tharn killed everyone in the court. He has decided to consult the Daedra on this matter knowing that they possess insight not held by mortal men.

The first one to arrive is Mehrunes Dagon heralded by the smell of hellfire and brimstone. He's chosen to remain human sized for the day in order to fit into the seats at the table. His visage is that of a red four armed demon with horns the size of a bull and his attitude is one of contempt for Jagar Tharn. "I have answered your summons mortal! Now tell me! Why have you've called me away from the responsibilities of my realm?!" the Prince of destruction growls as he enters the room. Jagar Tharn smirks knowing how much it irks the Daedra lord to have to deal with a lowly mortal such as himself. "Yes, I imagine the upkeep of that assortment of magma and ash must be excruciating," says Jagar Tharn mockingly, "take a seat and wait for the rest of the disorderlys to arrive, and I will tell you all you need to know in due time." "Do not disrespect me worm," says Mehrunes gravely, "I could end your life in a second." "And after all I've done for you," says Tharn continuing to mock him, "I thought we were friends." Mehrunes lifts his arm and a fireball forms in his hand. "Go ahead Dagon," says Tharn confidently and coldly, "throw it all away." Dagon snarls in frustration, puts away the fireball, and sits down. "Somebody needs to chill the hell out and get laid," says an easy going voice as Sanguine, the Daedric prince of debauchery walks into the room with a female under each arm. "Maybe one of you girls could show old smoky a good time," he says in a flirtatiously joking tone to the girls prompting smiles from both of them. "Hello Sanguine," says Jagar Tharn with a smile, "how's life been treating you?" "Well, you know… I haven't been sober for most it," says Sanguine sitting down, "and in the time that isn't spent ripped or stoned I don't have my pants on. I swear if I didn't have godlike powers and omnipotent knowledge of my realm I would never find the damn things. Thank me for small graces. Hey, how's that wife of yours doing? I hope my last visit didn't cripple her." "She's fine Sanguine," says Tharn, "a little sore." "Oh, that's to be expected," says Sanguine proudly, "if you get hit with a jackhammer too many times you're likely to feel it for the next few days, right girls?" The girls both giggle at Sanguine's humor slaves to his godlike charm. "Disgusting," says Dagon.

"I think it's absolutely FABULOUS!" an insane voice in an Irish accent booms as he enters the room, "almost as fabulous as being called away from my hobbies of narwhal riding, cheese eating, synchronized swimming, and cat dismembering for what will most likely be another power play for more Daedric secrets. But hey, who do I have to blame for all the fun I've been having for the last ten years? The puny mortal sitting in the big seat! What can I do for ya old chum?" "Have a seat Sheogorath," says Tharn, "this is no power play. This is something that could threaten our whole arrangement." "Oh goody! A worm in the apple! A bear in the honey! A knife in the back! Your soul on a pike! You'd better hope our agreement isn't done for. I've been having too much fun driving people insane and causing mayhem!" says the Prince of Madness becoming grave and threatening with the last sentence. "I know what's at stake," says Tharn. "You'd better hope so," says another deeper voice as Hircine, Prince of the Hunt enters the room, "I've enjoyed unlimited game for the hunt too much for this to go away. If you are to fail your soul will be continuously ripped to shreds by were sharks and reconstituted again and again only to be torn apart once more." Hircine takes his seat and looks around, "now, where is Molag-Bal? We need him to start this meeting." The air in the room suddenly turns cold as the prince of enslavement and domination of mortals enters the room, "I am here Hircine, and I am interested in what our mortal friend here has to say. What is it that threatens our agreement? Is it a god, a person, or a failing on his behalf?"

"It is a prophecy written in the Elder Scrolls," says Jagar Thorn standing up; "a hero rises from the court of Uriel Septim VII. He is to defy me, slay me, and bring peace back to the land of Tamriel. Of course I don't have to tell you that this will end the wealth of influence that I've allowed you over my world for the past ten years." "An Elder Scroll? Now that's a tricky one!" says Sheogorath the Prince of madness with an insane exuberance. "Indeed," says Hircine, "what is written in the scrolls almost always comes to pass, but sometimes it tells what could be and not what is. Are there any members of Uriel Septim's court that still live?" "I can guarantee you that there aren't," says Tharn, "I made sure to slay every last one of them when I took power. I tortured them, impaled them, and burned their remains. None of them are left." "Then problem solved!" says Mehrunes Dagon irritated, "You've wasted my time once again with your foolish insecurities and fears!" "Do not dismiss the prophecy as being averted just yet," says Malog-Bal with dead seriousness, "sometimes the prophecies of the scrolls are not as clear as they appear. What does it mean by court? Does his butler count? His wife? His children?" "Oh come on! Don't touch the fox!" protests Sanguine upon hearing that Uriel Septim's wife was a candidate. "There are plenty of fish in sea," says Jagar Tharn to Sanguine as he puts his head in his arms in frustration. "Okay!" says Sanguine in nonchalant acceptance as he pops up from his split second grief. "So it's agreed!" says Sheogorath, "we murder the wife, the kids, and the butlers! Can we go now?" "Yes, I grow tired of this pointless exercise," says Dagon getting sick of being in the presence of the mortal that thinks of him, a Daedric Prince, as merely a tool. "There is one more possibility," says Hircine stopping everyone from leaving, "the Blades. They were the leaders of the rebellion before you crushed it correct?" "Yes!" says Tharn in realization, "of course! The Blades! The hero most certainly will rise from their ranks! I have all but destroyed the organization but some stragglers still exist among them. I will begin a new purge immediately. Anyone who's ever had even the smallest connection with the blades will be destroyed!" "And that's a wrap folks!" says Sheogorath yawning and getting out of his seat. The Daedric lords all leave the room save Mehrunes Dagon who turns to face Jagar Tharn. "One day Tharn, I will no longer have need of you, and when that day comes you will rue the day that you were born," says the Prince of destruction in a threatening tone. "I live in fear," says Jagar Tharn coldly taking pleasure in reducing a Daedric lord to being his pawn. Dagon roars and leaves the room infuriated by the audacity of the mortal. Tharn smirks and returns to Tamriel in the visage of Uriel Septim to begin his new purge.

* * *

Meanwhile literally worlds away a man nineteen years of age tosses and turns in his sleep causing his double bed to creak as he thrashes about. He's having a nightmare, the same nightmare he's been having for the last five years. He's in Myrtle Beach South Carolina, a place near and dear to his heart. A storm hits and the waters of the beach recede before coming back with a vengeance. The wave crashes over the man's head burying him under miles and miles of ocean. He struggles violently to the surface and gets there in the nick of time. He gasps for air and thanks his God for his good fortune. Then as he begins to celebrate another wave crashes down upon him, once again burying him under miles of ocean. He struggles again to get to the surface and again he makes it in the nick of time and thanks his maker for being so lucky to survive a second time. But as luck would have it another wave crashes upon his head forcing him to repeat the process again. After a few times of this the man wakes from his sleep sweating a pig from a combination of the heat of the room and stress from the nightmare. Cailin McAlister had never been one to assign meaning to dreams besides the random manifestations of one's subconscious but he knew full well what this dream represented. It was life, the eternal struggle. You fight your way to the top of a chaotic and dangerous ocean only to be crushed again by the violent waves buried in the endless strife.

Cailin got of bed, got dressed and wondered if it was worth it. He believed that every man woman and child had a purpose, a reason that they were created, but what was his purpose? What was he to do to fight the tide of chaos, pain, and strife? And what if his purpose was too small to matter when it was finally revealed? Would it be like spitting into the vast ocean hoping to make a difference? Why exist at all when heaven was right there around the corner? Cailin was never suicidal, far from it, he simply wished for justification for the pain he and the entirety of the human race had gone through. He simply wished to know that it wasn't for naught. He walked downstairs and went outside for fresh air putting the philosophical questions that plagued him to the back of his mind as he looked out into the vast expanse of houses and nature, vast enough for him anyways. As he looked out into the sky something caught his eye. It was like a shooting star in the day time. It fell across the air to the earth in a zigzagged line until turning and heading straight towards Cailin. Cailin immediately turned tail and ran as the comet hit the cement in the cul de sac forming a crater. Cailin looked at the crater as the smoke cleared and the neighbors came outside for a looksee. "What was that?" asked a neighbor that Cailin barely knew. "I don't know," Cailin said back in a semi loud voice. Whatever it was it seemed to draw him to it. A glowing object floated from the middle of the crater into the drive way of his house. Cailin walked toward it as if by instinct prompting the neighbor to say, "Be careful! You don't know where that thing's been!" Cailin ignored her and grabbed the object. It was a scroll, an odd thing to be found falling from the sky to say the least. He unrolled the scroll and tried to read it. His sight left him instantly as insane visions of death and destruction flashed through his mind before he lost consciousness and drifted once again into the arms of Morpheus.

To Be Continued…


End file.
